A New Friend of Mine
by Envious Sloth
Summary: He thought it was just going to be some really quick drop in at a supposed haunted house. That's all he really wanted it to be. He didn't want to be stuck going there every single day to help with a ghost's problem.
1. Prologue

"You sure this is a good idea?" Wirt's voice trembles as the car approaches the place quickly. His dark brown eyes deeply focused on the dilapidating house before him. The car pulls over and parks at the curb in front of the house. His eyes focused on the sign of caution sitting in the front. As he took in the looks of the house, Wirt begins to recall the story of the sad looking house. Apparently, the house is the oldest house around the area, but it has had many makeovers to maintain its conditions. Many makeovers as well as many owners: the house has had its fair share of owners before the last owners suddenly left without trying to sell it a long while ago. There was no note left about why they had left either. They just… left. And of course that led to some misconceptions and rumors; some of which had brought Wirt's group there.

Jason Funderberker turns in the driver's seat, looking over to Wirt, letting out a light chuckle.

"What's Halloween without a _little_ scare?" He gives a weak laugh… or what sounds like a weak laugh to Wirt. Wirt could never tell whenever Funderberker is talking..

"B-But it isn't actually haunted, right?" Wirt sits with back straight, bouncing his leg up and down as he toys with his thumbs. "There's no possible way ghosts can exist anyways… right?"

"Nah, don't worry, Wirt," Sarah peeks over her seat in the front to give Wirt an assuring smile. "I came here last Halloween with my cousins and nothing big happened. The scariest part of the whole thing was when my cousin shrieked loudly when they stepped into a hole in the house."

"Wait, so the house isn't safe? Maybe we shouldn't go, guys," Wirt coos, beginning toy with his seatbelt, but it's too late: everyone else had already exited out of the car. Hesitantly, Wirt shifts in his seat, hoping that maybe the other four kids would return to the car after a quick check at the house, but even then, he also began to worry about the possibilities that maybe he'll get trapped in the car or possibly being a victim of a car thief, being stuck in the backseat as the thief drives away.

Quickly Wirt unbuckles his seatbelt, jostling over to open the door. He trips over the curb as he falls out of the car ungracefully. Another step or two and he finds himself knocking into the girl Jason likes now.

"Sorry! Uh…" His mind blanks. Wirt couldn't remember the blonde girl's name, so immediately, he hushes up and turns toward Jason and Sarah. "So, uh…"

"Let's go inside already," Jason chuckles before walking straight to the door.

The blonde girl follows and so does Sarah, but Sarah turns back and sees Wirt rubbing his arm slowly. Sarah walks back to Wirt, placing her hand on his shoulder, "Hey, it's really gonna be okay, Wirt. Really, if it doesn't work out well, I could just leave with you. I'm cool with that."

His eyes don't turn back to Sarah, though. Wirt's brown eyes gaze back to the burning evening sky, as though it may be a way out of all this. He sighs, turning back to Sarah and nods.

Nodding back, Sarah guides Wirt toward the entrance of the door. Every step that Wirt takes toward the house, he can feel his nerves growing sharper. Every step he takes leads to him feeling colder in the pit of his stomach. He almost feels sick. And seeing the darker interior of the house unsettles him, as if when he enters, he would purge.

But soon enough, he and Sarah managed to enter the house perfectly fine. Once his eyes adjusted to the darker area, Wirt almost feels at ease seeing the decor more easily than from the outside. Of course he knew from the second he saw from outside that the decor would, too, be Georgian styled. Although considering that many folks have lived in the house, Wirt imagined that at least the furniture would differ, but only a few of the furniture was different. From the fancy chandelier down to the medallion, floral carpet, everything in the house practically screams Georgian. To Wirt, it is almost like he had travelled back in time the moment he set foot into the house. When the lights came on in the house, he felt all the more at ease; in fact, a smile even appeared on his face.

He was quick to stop smiling, though, the moment he notices Sarah looking over at him. The girl giggles to herself and asks, "Not scared anymore?"

"Not really," Wirt shrugs, looking around again, glossing over the curled arms of the ivory sofa. "The interior of the house is actually really nice. I haven't seen a lot of Georgian era architecture around so this is kind of refreshing."

"I know, right?" Sarah walks more inward, sitting herself in one of the matching ivory plush chairs. "I can't really imagine why people would imagine it would be haunted."

Nodding at her comment, Wirt decides to inspect the house a little more, basking in the glorious architecture and the furniture. It's only once in awhile that he sees a house as neatly furnished as this one. However, as he glances over the fireplace beyond the ivory sofas and chairs, something extravagant catches his eyes and immediately all his attention focuses on that one thing: an old, faded painting of a large family, perfect for the ginormous frame. As the centerpiece sits a mother in one of the ivory chairs. Behind it is the father and surrounding those two are many children, all of which have ginger hair — boys and girls that look awfully alike, aside from slight differences in clothing and height differences. Something about the depicted family put Wirt on edge, but at the same time, the family was a perfect painting, fit for the rest of the decor. He really wanted to pull his eyes away, but he just couldn't, looking over the little details of the painting. It was like the painting itself — the dark, swirling blue eyes of the family — were pulling him closer.

"Maybe _that's_ why people say it's haunted," the sound of Jason's groggy voice breaks Wirt's attention.

"Yeah," the blonde girl nods, "Maybe the whole family is haunting the house."

Shivers go down Wirt's spine. "Wait… you're joking, right?"

"No way," Sarah laughs the notion off, "I came here before and nothing popped up. Trust me, Wirt, if there was a ghost, I would have seen it and probably would have told you."

"P-Probably?"

"I mean, _would_ have told you," Sarah lays her head down on the sofa's arm. "So take it easy, Wirt."

"A-Alright," Wirt rubs his arm nervously, but he nods at Sarah's response. He looks back up at the large illustration again, looking at each of the family member's faces, taking in how each member was so different and yet had same looking features here and there. It was mesmerizing… and terrifying. He had to pull himself away. The more he stared at the family, the more he felt creeped out by the blank stares that the painting made them have. In fact, it was giving him chills.

"Hey, would you want to check out the other rooms? They've got a lot of cool stuff inside the house," Sarah suggests, adjusting herself to sit up.

"That sounds awesome," Jason blurts before Wirt can say anything. Then, with a nod, everyone was in an agreement.

Immediately, Jason took the lead and everyone followed; Wirt trailing behind. The group decided to investigate the kitchen first. Of course, the furniture was as extravagant as the rest of the house — perhaps even less so. The kitchen was rather empty when they entered, but the polka dotted walls made the room seemingly lively. The dining table was of decent size, but it was certainly not large enough to fit the amount of chairs that were present. Wirt figured as much when he remembered the painting. The painting again. The haunting eyes of the people in the picture. He really needed to block it out, but it really was bugging him. Just got to stop thinking about it, he kept saying in his thoughts.

Then, they found the study room before they decided to go upstairs. They looked into the study room and found large, dark wood shelves lining the back wall. The cabinet doors to the shelves were glass that looked like they have been dusted in a couple of months. After a bit of scavenging, they couldn't find a single thing in the bookshelves; the only thing they actually _did_ find were a pair of broken glasses in the desk before the bookshelves. While the other kids were fooling around with the glasses, Wirt kept thinking about where he's seen the glasses. He was pretty sure he saw the older male wearing it in the picture. Oh god, the picture again.

And then, the kids went up the stairs to explore. At this point, everyone went off in their own little paths around the upstairs. Wirt, on the other hand, decided to stick around with Sarah. Sarah didn't seem to mind. At least, to Wirt, she didn't seem to mind. He even asked her, but Sarah affirmed and said she's fine. So, the two ventured off into one of the many bedrooms on the second floor.

Once they opened the door, Wirt and Sarah both are greeted by three lined up beds on each side. Well, there is five average, twin-sized beds, and then there is a baby crib, which is the closest bed to the door. Being in the room and seeing the beds creeps Wirt out; he thought that the former owners would have cleaned these out by now.

"Hey, Sarah," Wirt keeps his eyes on the baby crib, "Isn't it kind of weird that they decided to keep all these beds?"

"Yeah…" Sarah ponders, "Maybe for rentals?"

"Hm…" Wirt looks around to the other beds, "Yeah, I guess it makes sense."

Then back to silence and looking around. Wirt is still bothered by looking at these beds. He tries to stay right in the middle of the path between beds, following right behind Sarah as Sarah makes her way over to the wardrobe in the back.

Sarah opens the door to the wardrobe, which is all empty. As empty as the bookshelves that were in the study room. And dusty, too. When he saw how vast the wardrobe is, his immediate thought was that if his little brother had come along, he would definitely hide out in here. Or would that be too predictable? His brother is practically the opposite of predictable, so there is no way his brother would hide in there. But overall, he is rather surprised at how empty it is, but considering their luck in finding things, Wirt also doesn't feel as surprised.

Then, Sarah simply closes the door again, in defeat that they could not find anything interesting in the vast wardrobe, but just when she closes the door, she hears something. Something hitting a surface harshly. Wirt's eyes immediately dart to where the sound is coming from: the wardrobe. Sarah raises a brow and opens the wardrobe again to inspect, but nothing was there. The absence and the noise put Wirt on edge. He really wants to leave.

But Sarah is already off to room next to the bedroom they were in. Wirt quickly catches up with the girl, finding the girl inspecting the wall conjoined to the other room. He notices her squatting down on the ground, looking at what seems to be a wooden toy.

"Is that what the noise was?" Wirt asks.

"I think so," Sarah nods, "But I didn't realize I slammed the closet door. Seems kind of weird."

"W-Weird?" That last bit got Wirt. He feels a burning pit within his stomach and his gut telling him that he really should be off. Off doing what? Writing poetry again, or playing the clarinet? Anything but being here. It was enough that Jason joked around that the house was haunted, but it's another thing to be the ones to _confirm_ that it's haunted.

Someone suddenly pats his shoulder. Wirt jolts around only to see that it's just Sarah. Good ol' Sarah.

"Don't worry," Sarah assures, "No ghosts, remember? Just a really old house."

"Yeah… a _really_ old house," Wirt scans the room again. He keeps quiet as Sarah walks around the room. From the looks of it, the room is supposedly where the children would play. Below the window, there's an large but empty chest with a label too worn out to read anymore. There's a wooden horse that people used to play with; the paint nearly gone. There's a rocking chair in the far corner, probably where the parent would sit and watch their kids. Then, on the wall that Sarah was examining are some toys laying across the shelf; some were broken, with some of the limbs missing or broken. Wirt imagines that they would have looked pretty back during its time, but now, they have grown past their time, left to collect dust.

After fidgeting with the toys on the shelves, he retracts his hand, seeing how black they have become from the dusty toys. He rubs his hand against his pants to rid of the dust, grumbling at how dirty his hands got.

He hears a eerie creak coming from the door, causing him to turn around. Nothing. And that was the issue. He looks toward Sarah, who also was staring at the door. She then turns around and walks over to Wirt.

"How bout we go elsewhere?" Sarah smiles. Wirt doesn't say a word and simply nods, following after Sarah back into the hallway.

She leads them both into another bedroom; this one most likely belonging to the parents. It was rather extravagant, too: the white curtains by the window matched the veils that hung around the bed — unfortunately both are rather torn. The dressers in the room were of dark wood, just like those in the study room.

There's a vanity table with the same kind of wood next to the bed; to Wirt's surprise, the mirror still remains and is rather clean, compared to the other things in the house. When he looks into the mirror, he sees only himself, looking tired, and what's behind him: the entranceway to the bathroom. He leans over the table and presses his hands against the mirror. Taking his hand back, he sees that there is no dust whatsoever.

Then suddenly something peaks his attention. He could have sworn that through the mirror, he saw something pop up in the closet. He isn't sure what exactly he saw in the mirror, but he saw _something_.

"Sarah?" Wirt calls the girl. Turning around, he does not see Sarah at all. A sudden chill goes down his spine — actual feeling of cold wind blowing down his spine. He's frozen in place, unsure what to do.

Fear is slowly creeping into his mind, and suddenly he begins running out of the room. He swings the door open and zooms through the hallway and down the stairs (somehow without slipping). He's not turning around; he's just bolting straight to the door.

"Wirt? What are you doing?" Wirt freezes right when he opens the door. Slowly, he closes the door and turns around, seeing Sarah have her hand on the stair railway as she cautiously walks down the stairs. "You okay?"

"N-No!" Wirt blurts out. "I'm really not okay! I really _really_ think I should go home now."

By the time Wirt finishes his argument, Sarah is already down the stairs, standing right before Wirt. She places a hand on his shoulder and nods.

"Alright, let's go then," Sarah looks away from Wirt back to the stairs. She calls out, "Hey guys! Wirt and I are gonna go back!"

A small grumble and footsteps above their head are heard. Soon, the other two are walking down the stairs. With a quick explanation, the other two agree to leave as well.

"Then, let's go," Sarah says. Jason is the first to exit out. Then it's the girl with glasses that leaves. Sarah guides Wirt out, walking in front of him.

However, Wirt is busy trying to think about exactly did he see back with the mirror. The sight of blue that appeared and vanished. Was it in his imagination? Was it real? Maybe it was some curtain of some sort? That blue seemed so familiar to him, but he did not where nor why. It's as though he has seen it before. Maybe it really _was_ one of the people he went with, but when he looks at the clothes of the other kids, no one was wearing blue — or at least a blue that would drape down on the ground, like a dress. Sarah was wearing a jean jacket, but that's not it.

A dress. That's what Wirt thinks he saw back in the mirror.

"Wirt?"

Slam.

Wirt looks up from his position; he didn't move a single inch since everyone else walked out. He is still standing before the door… and the door was shut. That was the slam he heard; it was the door being closed. Too abruptly.

"Oh no…" Wirt mutters. His breathing quickens. He rushes to the door, trying to turn the knob but the knob is jammed. He bangs on the door with his fist, calling out for the kids outside. He tries to look through the window by the door to see if the kids are still there, but he is paralyzed — by his own fear? He feels a cold wind go down his spine, even worse than before. Just like at the mirror. He couldn't run. He's tense and stuck in one place. He gradually turns his head to peek over his shoulder.

And nothing again. It was absolutely nothing.. He doesn't understand his current situation. He's not even sure if being tense right now is the right thing, either. Slowly, he relaxes, taking deep breaths and making remarks of how silly he really is. He shakes his arms to relax himself and tries again to twist the doorknob and open the door but then —

"What are you doing here?" A girl's voice asks.

Wirt jumps and falls over. He tries to find out where it's from. As he lays back on his arms, he quickly scans the room around him to see where the voice came from. Still nothing, but he still feels the chills running up and down his spine. It's become more like someone had put an ice block against his back and it's stuck to him.

"You didn't answer my question," The girl's voice again. Wirt takes a deep breath and sits up.

"Where are you?" Wirt asks loudly.

"Hey," The girl shouts, "You can't ask a question without answering mine first."

Feeling a little annoyed, Wirt grumbles back, "I just came here with friends. Now, where _are_ you?"

"Right next to you, you idiot," The girl's irritated voice says.

"What…" Wirt looks around again, but again finds nothing. "You're joking." Immediately, he feels an abrupt rush of wind in his ears, making him jump back.

"Feel that? That was me," The girl explains.

"So you're —"

"Yes, I'm dead, whoopie," The girl sasses. Immediately, Wirt doesn't feel afraid; in fact, he just feels rather annoyed. He feels absolutely weird in this state: he _should_ be terrified, talking to the dead, but the girl is rather a bother. "So, did you come here because of some ghost story?"

"Yeah," he nods, "But why _are_ you a ghost?"

"As if I know," the girl sighs. "I've been wondering that all these years, and still no idea."

"Okay…?" Wirt's voice trails off, his eyebrows narrowing, "So, why are you keeping me here?"

"Well, to be honest, I'm really bored," the girl whines, "It _really_ sucks being alone and not being able to go outside, so what _I_ want is for you to stay with me."

"F-Forever?" Wirt stutters.

"No, you dingdong!" she scolds him, "It's exactly as you said: I want to stop being a ghost— move on. So, I thought maybe someone can help me. I've been trying to find someone to help me all these years, and you're the only one that actually noticed me."

"I did?" Wirt questions blankly, making the girl grumble again.

"Okay, come here." A rush of cold wind passes through Wirt, making the boy shiver.

The girl sighs annoyingly, "Okay, you know the master bedroom right? There's a mirror there. Let's go." Her voice growing more distant as she speaks. Dazed, Wirt remains on the ground.

He hears a "hmph" from the stairs and soon after another rush of cold wind hits his leg.

"Well, come on!" The girl whines.

"Okay! Okay!" Wirt gets up and trudges up the stairs.

Once he reached the top floor, he walks over to the master bedroom, the door already open. His pace becomes a little slower, but he makes his way into the room, immediately spotting something new in the mirror; the blue in the mirror draws him closer. He passes the bed, past the pale veils of the bed, to see more of that blue.

He would have gone closer, but he stops himself at the corner of the bed, watching almost awestruck. There, standing before the mirror, is a girl. It's one of the girls that was in the family painting downstairs. Wirt figures just by the ginger hair and the style of the dress; all of it just makes him think of the Regency Era. The blue of the girl's eyes matches her gown, but her eyes are a slight icy blue and piercing to Wirt's gaze. He definitely is in awe now, mesmerized by being in her presence.

The girl's eyes glance over towards Wirt's way through the mirror, "Hey, what are you waiting over there for? Come here." Wirt sees the girl walk over his way, instantaneously feeling a cold wind strike him again. The girl reaches for his hand, but Wirt sees that her hand only phases through Wirt's hand; his hands begins to feel like it was hit by a snowball. He shakes his hand before he walks over to the mirror with the girl.

When the two of them stand before the mirror, the girl starts, "Don't you remember? You saw me through this mirror. I was…" She leaves Wirt's side to walk all the way over to the closet behind them. She adjusts herself to stand right past the doorway. "Right here. I was right here. You saw me, and then you ran straight out of the room, remember?"

"Y-Yeah," Wirt rubs the back of his neck.

"You're one of the only people that can see me _and_ hear me," the girl explains. "Usually the people that live here see me or at least feel that weird chill you're getting." Wirt widens his eyes, but the girl continues, "Yeah, I already know about that. So anyways, since you can hear me _and_ see me, maybe you can also help me figure out how to _stop_ being a ghost."

"No!" Wirt shakes his head. He brings his hand up to his face and rubs his face down, then pitches the bridge of his nose. "I don't — I don't want to! I shouldn't even be here! How did I even get in this situation? I should've said no to Sarah! This is completely crazy!" He looks to the girl. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really can't help you. You just gotta find someone else! I can't be the _only_ one around who can hear and see you. I really should go." Immediately, Wirt dashes to the door.

"Wait, please!" The girl pleads, "Please! Just think it through. It'll be a quick favor, and then I'll be gone. Then you can go back and live your life again, okay?"

"N-No!" Wirt tremors, "There's no way I can't help. I'm sorry!" Wirt opens the door, only for it to slam back.

"Please!" The girl roars. Wirt freezes in place, afraid to continue trying. The girl lets out a heavy sigh. "I just… I've tried.. Really hard on my own, and trying to find someone who can hear me. I really can't do it anymore. As stupid as it sounds, you really _are_ my only hope."

Wirt loosens his grip on the doorknob. He keeps his eyes down and continues to listen to the girl.

"Look, if it doesn't work after a while, then I'll leave you alone. We just need time to figure it out… Just give me…."

"A week."

"...Did you say something?" The girl asks.

"I said," Wirt lets his shoulders drop, "A week. I'll try for a week. Then, I'm not coming back here again… alright?"

"What?," The girl states, "I can't work with that! What if it takes longer?"

"It's a week or nothing," Wirt crosses his arms.

"Fine!" The girl pouts, "Then you're just going to have to come back everyday!"

"What? Everyday?" Wirt whines.

"I _have_ to make use of the time," the girl explains.

"Ugh fine, but like I said," Wirt crosses his arms, "after a week from today, I'm not coming back, okay?"

"Deal," The girl says cheerfully and confidently. "Then tomorrow we start, okay?"

"Fine," Wirt nods.

"Alright, then I'll see you tomorrow!" The girl's voice grows distant.

"Yeah, see ya," Wirt opens the door again, but he stops again. Looking up, he turns to the mirror again, "Wait, what's your name?"

"Huh?" He sees the girl walk toward the mirror, taking a seat before it. "My name?"

"Yeah, I don't think we introduced each other," Wirt shrugs, "I'm Wirt by the way."

The girl snorts, "Wirt?"

"Yeah, well," Wirt's face flushes, "What's your name?"

"Beatrice," the girl promptly says.

"Well, see you tomorrow, Beatrice." And with that, Wirt leaves the house.


	2. Day 1

"What do you mean you're not going home?" His mom's loud voice hurts his ears.

"I-I…" He stutters; now holding his phone with both hands, putting the phone closer to his mouth. "I'm just hanging out with a friend, Mom. N-Nothing to worry about!"

"Wirt, I'm your mom. I can tell that you're lying—"

"Okay! Gotta go! Bye! Love you!" And just like that he shuts his flip phone, agitated by the entire circumstance. Of course he feels guilty about lying to his mother, but what can he say? 'Oh yeah, Mom, I'm hanging out with a dead ghost girl after school, so don't worry and no need to exorcise me or anything!" Just the thought of it hurts his head. Wirt would have to explain himself more, and he, in no way, would be happy to do so.

So here Wirt is, standing before the haunted house he saw the day before. The old, rickety, Georgian home that he (unfortunately) has to become used to for the next week.

"Just a week…" Wirt grips the straps of his backpack tightly and sighs, "Just a week and that's it. Then we can forget this entire thing and go back to the real world…"

Feeling more or less motivated, he takes a step closer to the door but hesitates. Wait, how is he supposed to enter the house? No one lives there so he could just walk in, right? Then again, _she's_ in there so it would be proper manners to knock, right? But again, it'd be odd if the neighbors saw him knocking on the door of an empty house. He looks over to the neighboring houses, anxious about being caught by the house, scared that perhaps he will get in some sort of trouble.

Bam!

The door swings open harshly hitting the wall. Wirt jumps back shrieking with his arms blocking him and his left leg up.

He stands there in that pose for a little while before he hears a light snicker and immediately puts his arms and leg down. Feeling abashed, Wirt squeezes his fist and turns around, about to take a step down from the porch.

"Wait! Wait!" Beatrice calls out, "Okay, sorry I laughed; I just couldn't get over that pose."

"Don't open the door so suddenly!" Wirt yells.

"Okay, okay, Grouchy," Wirt notices the door swinging on its hinges, "Just get in here and help me already." As angry as he was, Wirt simply pouted and walked into the house.

The door shuts behind him, and he's left standing in the living room. Everything was the same as yesterday. He feels a slightly cold breeze run by him.

Crossing his arms, he starts, "So…"

"So," Beatrice cuts in, "What's your idea?"

"What?" Taken aback by the question, Wirt freezes in place.

"Do you have any ideas to help me?" Beatrice asks again.

"Wait. I thought _you_ would have ideas. Aren't _you_ the one who's having this issue?"

"I _had_ ideas, but I've already tried them on my own! That's why I asked _you_." Beatrice huffs, "I need someone with _new_ ideas. So… ideas?"

"Well, how about salt? Doesn't that make ghosts go away or something?"

"That's to _hurt_ the ghost, Dummy! I want to move on peacefully, okay?"

"Well, hearing you complain is hurting _me_ ," Wirt mutters.

"Excuse me?" Beatrice's sharp voice questions.

"No, it's nothing," Wirt waves his hands.

Another huff from Beatrice. "Alright," her voice trails off, "Okay, any other ideas in your head?"

"I'm… not entirely sure," Wirt confesses, "Look, I'm supposed to be like an assistant, right? So shouldn't you be the one taking the lead?"

"It's like I said," Beatrice grumbles, "I've tried anything I could think of, but nothing."  
Wirt rubs the back of his neck agitated about this whole predicament. What can he really do? He wasn't familiar with this entire situation, so he's confounded about what to do. Moreso, he wasn't really into ghost stories; if possible, he would avoid any tellings of ghost stories. Sure, it may be fake, but when he's laying in bed trying to get some rest and suddenly hears a bang or a thud from an unknown source, ghosts were the worst things to be thinking about at that time. So of course, his knowledge on ghosts were out the window.

Wait! Maybe…

"Well, maybe I can figure it out when I'm back at home. So I guess I'll just go…" Wirt turns for the door, but a sudden chill freezes him in his place.

"Hey!" Beatrice raises her voice, "You can't go! We need all the time we can get to help me! So don't go wasting it!" Feeling his nose get colder, Wirt nods quickly and eventually he feels warm again.

"Alright, then…." Beatrice sighs, "Maybe…"

"Maybe what?" Wirt asks.

"Maybe you can get some ideas if I told you about myself!" Beatrice suggests.

"What? How's that going to help?" Wirt retorts.

"Maybe if I tell you about me, you can find some sort of key about my life that can help me move on!"

"Okay… but I don't really follow _how_ that can help," Wirt shrugs.

"Because maybe you might find something super important in the story and then that might lead us in the right direction!" Beatrice explains.

"Yeah, but again," Wirt crosses his arms, "If it's super important, shouldn't _you_ know what it is? I mean, it's your life."

"Maybe a different perspective would help," she pauses. "Look, do you have any other ideas?"

"Not really— "

"Okay, then storytime it is!" Beatrice's voice sounds more distant than earlier. "Come over here."

Wirt raises a brow, "Where?"

"The living room. Take a seat."

And so, he follows Beatrice's orders, taking a seat in the ivory chair; the cushion is stiff, making him squirm a bit. He stares blankly at the air, waiting for Beatrice to start, but all there is is silence. For a long while, too.

"...What are you staring at?" Beatrice scoffs.

"Nothing. At all." Wirt rolls his eyes. "I can't see you, remember?"

"Oh, right," Beatrice sheepishly replies, "Alright, I'll start. I'm Beatrice. You already know that. This is my house. I used to live here with my big family a long time ago. I had my mom, my dad, and my sisters and brothers. I was the oldest of the siblings. And now, I'm here. Everyone's dead but me."

The last sentence did not make Wirt feel well. The way she said it so nonchalantly is a little eerie to him; it didn't sit well with him. Either that, or the seat he's sitting in is just _that_ uncomfortable.

"Did you die before your family?" Wirt asks.

"Oh no, "Beatrice replies, "I actually died last, I think."

"... I'm so sorry," Wirt awkwardly responds.

"I mean, that was a long time ago, so don't worry about it. Can't do anything about it."

Weird. Wirt processes the information in, but something seems so odd. When he recalls how Beatrice looked in the mirror, she seemed around his age. So, he had to wonder.

"...How did you die?"

"Oh yeah, I also had a dog. He was my best friend. The old fella always followed me around everywhere I went — "

"Beatrice, how did you die?"

"Oh, you know," Beatrice recalls, "Just died of old age. I lived a nice long life.

"But I saw you," Wirt argues, "in the mirror, I saw a young girl. So, you couldn't have lived long, right?"

"Have you ever considered things more different back in my time?" Beatrice fumes. "I had a friend who died around the same age as me. So, it happens!" She says as though it was something to be proud of.

"Alright, alright," Wirt drops the question. He isn't sure whether she is lying or not, but he'd rather drop the question to avoid the wrath of an angry ghost. But now, he can't even think of a question.

"...I really couldn't think of anything from what you told me," Wirt confesses. "Maybe you need to say more about what happened?" Beatrice sighs and groans.

"Maybe not now." Beatrice's voice hints her anger. "How 'bout you just go home and think of something instead, okay?"

"Wait, really?" Surprised, Wirt stands up. Has it been that long? As much as he dreaded coming here and not wanting to be here, it seemed like the time he spent here wasn't very long.

"Yes, really," Beatrice stresses, "It'd be better if maybe next time you had some ideas to work off of. Maybe telling my story isn't enough…" She mutters. "Just think of something before tomorrow. That's your job, got it?"

"Sure," Wirt nods, walking off to the door with some relief. "Then tomorrow it is."

Then, he leaves as quickly as he entered, happy to retreat home for now.


	3. Day 2

"Alright, bye, Mom," Wirt opens the door, ready to leave for school.

"Wait, Wirt?" His mom rushes down the stairs before Wirt can step outside. When she reaches him, she places her hands on Wirt's shoulders. She takes a breath before speaking again.

"I need you to pick up Greg," His mom huffs, "After school, I have a meeting at the time I have to pick up and your dad is working late as well."

"But, Mom," Wirt groans, "I'm going to my friend's house after school."

"Great!" She pats Wirt's shoulder. "Then he can tag along." Immediately after, she kisses his forehead and sends him out of the house, closing the door behind him. Too stunned by all of the sudden pushing, Wirt awkwardly shuffles off to his school.

As he gets further away from his house, Wirt's mind starts wandering off to his current issue: his brother. That is to say, what is he going to do with him when they go to see Beatrice? He's definitely sure that if he takes Greg with him, his brother won't shut up about it when they are back home. Then his parents will start asking about Wirt. Bad idea.

But what is he going to do? He can't just ditch his brother at his school. He can but his mother would scold him and perhaps ground him for his irresponsibility. As he keeps walking on, Wirt gets more anxious thinking about both his brother and the ghost girl.

Nothing interesting at school. At least, nothing he can remember; his mind was still worrying over to the predicament his mother left with him. Internally he would sarcastically thank his mother, but it still didn't help.

So here he is, standing outside of a metal chain fence on a grassy field, looking out to a granite parking lot. He has no plans whatsoever, so he's just waiting try the chain linked fence's gate to find his brother.

A rusty metal bell rings loudly over the bleak school; and soon, lines of children come flooding out of the buildings. Parents come to the different lines of students to pick their kids up. It was too hard for Wirt to really see his brother among the crowd. He scans over the crowd, trying to look for him or at least his brother's teacher, but he couldn't see him.

"Bloop," Wirt feels a poke against his back and hears the light sound of a child's voice. He sighs and turns around, and of course, there's his brother.

"Hi Wirt! Mom said you were picking me up." Greg greets.

"Yeah, but shouldn't you be with your teacher?" Wirt rubs the back of his neck.

"Oh yeah!" Greg brings his hand up to his face in thought, "Well, that's okay! I told my teacher that I'm going with you now, see?" He points over to his teacher and waves a hello to the teacher. Wirt sighs.

"Alright great. Let's go then," Wirt starts walking away. Quickly, Greg catches up to his brother. There was silence between the two as they got off the grassy field.

"So, who's house are we going to?" Greg asks.

"What?"

"Mom said we're going to your friend's house. She said she wants me to see if you were lying yesterday. Did you lie?" Greg asks.

Wirt keeps his silence. Of course, his mom wants to check what Wirt is up to. She was probably lying about her having a meeting today. It's too late to really tell her and make her confess she lied. He has to take Greg over to Beatrice, and he is _not_ going to be prepared whatsoever for the scolding his mom was going to give him for talking to "ghosts" and lying. Probably moreso the lying bit.

They cross a street and make a turn before Greg starts again.

"Oh! I know where this is!" Greg announces. Wirt stops mid-step, making him stumble over, but he regains his stature and turns to Greg.

"W-What do you mean?" Wirt tries to ask calmly.

"Yeah! It's by the haunted house! Are we going to the haunted house? I heard there was a _beautiful_ lady in the house!" Greg stresses "beautiful," making Wirt roll his eyes.

"How'd your hear about it?" Wirt asks.

"I heard from Sarah. You guys went to the haunted house, and she said there was a ghost." Greg explains.

"Okay, but how'd you hear it was a girl?"

"I was guessing," Greg shrugs, "Hey Wirt? So are we going there? We should give her some gift!"

Wirt sighs… He looks over to Greg who is smiling, probably thinking about what kind of gift to give the ghost.

"Don't tell our parents, but," Wirt starts, "Yeah, we're going to the haunted house."

"Oh, we can't go yet." Greg stops in his track. He looks around and walks on the lawn nearby. Before Wirt can scold him, Greg comes back with a stick and a dandelion.

"...Greg."

"These are good, right? Now she has a weapon and a wishing flower!"

"Why would she need these?" Wirt asks in a dreadful tone.

"To be a strong ghost!"

"Okay, but the dandelion?"

"Grants her infinity wishes!"

Wirt didn't want to continue the conversation. At that point, he thought it would be a little useless trying to understand Greg.

Although, perhaps the dandelion may grant Beatrice's wish, if he was going to believe in superstition. That would be great. It'd finish this whole deal quickly, and then he wouldn't have to panic about his parents finding out about him talking to a dead person or the neighbors catching him entering the house and talking to thin air.

He turns to see that he arrived at the house. It wasn't until he got to the house that he felt a pit of agony about being at the house again.

… "Agony" is a bit dramatic, but it was the only word that popped to his head about being there. That and "dread."

What brought him back was a tug at his sleeves. His brother, of course.

"This is a pretty house!" Greg exclaims, "I bet royalty lives here!" Greg walks up the stairs of the porch and goes to the large window by the door. He starts waving both of his hands, both still holding the stick and dandelion, and greets, "Hello, your Majesty!"

"Greg!" Wirt raises his voice, but that doesn't stop his brother from waving at nothing.

Seeing that his brother didn't respond to his call, Wirt scrunches up his nose, annoyed. He stomps up the porch, grabs his step-brother by the hand, and walks to the door, knocking aggressively on the wood.

Soon, the door creaks open, but Wirt didn't hear Beatrice's voice first.

"Hello, your Majesty! I have these gifts for your royalty-ness." Greg waves the dandelion and the stick he took from the yard.

Beatrice snorts at the name before replying, "Your Majesty? Well, I'm certainly honored! Gee, I wish _someone_ was just as wise to me." Of course, she was referring to Wirt.

Wirt crosses his arm and turns away from Greg and the door, tapping his foot angrily against the wooden floor.

Even so, Greg carries on, "Oh, queen lady, I hope you take these gifts. I got it from someone's yard. They don't know how important these are."

"Oh, I'd love to take these, but…" She pauses.

"Oh , you can't grab them?" Greg asks.

"Uh, no, kid. I can't. I'm a ghost —"

"Can I poke you with it?"

"No —"

"Poke," Wirt turns around to see Greg jutting the sticks into thin air.

"Hey, knock it off, kid!" Beatrice's voice grew low and agitated.

Wirt arches his brows as he tries to understand what exactly was going on.

"Kid, it feels really weird when you're poking through me."

Wait… Greg was poking Beatrice… well, poking through her, but still: doesn't that mean he sees her? Or perhaps, just mere coincidence.

"Then I'll poke your face!"

"Wait, Greg!" Wirt steps forward, "You can see Beatrice?"

"Oh! Your name is Beatrice? We have an aunt named Beatrice —"

"Greg!" Wirt squats down to Greg's height and grabs his brother's shoulder. "You can see her?"

"Yeah! And she's pretty!" Greg compliments, "But she doesn't want my gift."

"Oh, that's great!" Wirt exclaims, "I can let you take care of it then!"

"Hey, Mister," Beatrice calls out sardonically, "Wouldn't it be a little, I don't know, _irresponsible_ to let your little brother be the one to deal with me?"

"Yeah!" Greg agrees, "You have to be responsible for Lady Beatrice."

Wirt droops his shoulders, giving in. Perhaps he might be able to pull away soon enough. Just not now. He walks himself into the house, and Greg follows along.

The door shuts behind them, and a rush of cold wind brushes past Wirt.

"So!" Beatrice starts, "You have an idea, Wirt?"

Oh god, right. He was supposed to think of a plan since yesterday, but he didn't at all. Wirt was far too busy enjoying himself at home, back to reality without all this supernatural stuff.

"Oh! I have an idea, Lady Beatrice!" Greg answers instead. It was a good thing too; Wirt was not completely ready to be scolded by an angry ghost.

"Yes, er… Greg?" The light, unsure tone says.

"I have a dandelion for you!" Greg waves the dandelion around again. "You can grant wishes with these! Here you go!" He immediately lets go of the dandelion and everyone watches it as it fell on the ground. There is utter silence after its fall.

"Oh," Greg realizes, "You can't pick it up. Whoops."

"I-It's fine…" Beatrice assures. "But that's really sweet of you, Greg!"

"Aw, then how are you going to get infinity wishes?" Greg pouts.

"Hm…" Beatrice thinks, "Well, maybe you can hold it for me, and I'll blow on it to make a wish?"

Greg gasps loudly.

"Lady Beatrice, it's no wonder you're queen." Beatrice snorts again, but all Wirt can do is groan. It honestly was pointless for him to stay, but Beatrice made a good point about being responsible.

"Okay," Greg picks up the flower and holds it up to, where Wirt believes, Beatrice stands, "Make a wish, your Highness."

Beatrice lets out a soft laughter and pauses. Wirt's eyes keep focusing on the dandelion and back to the empty space where Beatrice supposedly stands. He feels his heart racing — a sort of hope growing in him that perhaps something as simple as the flower was going to get him out of the situation. He prays quietly that his own wish may come true with this.

A gasp.

A single blow and gradually the seeds dispersed from the flowerhead, drifting off with the slight blow and gently landing on the floor.

Wirt gulps and looks up from the seeds on the floor to Greg and then to the empty space.

Silent. His heart jumps slightly. It worked then?

Wirt lets out a relieved laugh. He rubs his head, running his hand through his hair in disbelief. That was it?

"What the heck are you laughing about? You sound a little… crazy."

Oh.

Wirt's mood drops instantly. Gritting his teeth, he replies, "Nothing at all."

Beatrice sighs, "I'm sorry, Greg. I guess this isn't it."

"Nah, that's okay." Greg flings the remaining stem behind him, landing on Wirt's foot. Immediately, he wanders off into the house. "You have a very nice castle, Lady Beatrice!"

"You can stop with the whole 'Lady Beatrice' thing. I'm not actually a queen."

"Aw, but you have a dress and everything I wish I could have that. Then I could get my own castle. Oh, and you're pretty, too."

"Aww, I have to wonder. How in the heck are you related to _that_ knucklehead?"

"Hey!" Wirt retorts. "Look, I'm sorry that I have no idea how to help a ghost, okay?"

"Maybe if you gave me more time than a week then I wouldn't complain when you don't have a plan?"

"Did I _say_ I didn't have a plan?"

"Well, _do_ you?" Beatrice sneers, but Wirt couldn't say anything anymore. She was definitely right. "Ah, well, maybe Greg can help me. What do you say?"

"Hm," Greg taps his finger on his cheek, looking up in thought. "Yeah, okay. But Wirt has to be responsible.

"But don't you think he's a _bit_ of a downer?" Beatrice whispers, but it was still loud enough for Wirt to hear.

"But _you_ said he needs to be responsible!" Greg points out.

"Well… yes. Fine then," Beatrice huffs. "So two of you will help me then! It's settled."

"Yeah! We'll be like your knights!" Greg cheers. "Right, Wirt?"

Knight was _definitely_ not what Wirt wanted to be toward Beatrice. In fact, he just wanted to be strangers — just remain unknown to each other instead. It would be better that way anyways. For himself, anyways.

He didn't respond to the situation though. He simply was there in the situation.

"Well," Beatrice speaks up, "I'm glad you want to help me. So do you have an idea?"

"Yeah!" Greg replies promptly.

"Well, that's certainly quick," Beatrice's voice relaxes. "So, Greg, what do you have in mind?"

"I'd like a tour of your castle, Ms. Beatrice."

"What? Why?" Wirt butts in.

"It's a very nice place. I'd like to live here." Greg states.

"Wait, how is _that_ going to help Beatrice?" Wirt raises a brow.

"Maybe there's some hidden treasure that Beatrice has to find!" Greg suggests, "Maybe something she lost."

"Oh!" Beatrice exclaims, "Well, I can't think of anything important that I have lost, but it's definitely worth a shot. A _much_ better idea." Wirt suddenly feels like he's being judged. He scrunches up his nose, knowing that Beatrice was probably jeering at Wirt.

"Alright then! Lead the way, Lady Ghost," Greg tells.

And so, the three went into all the different rooms of the house. In each room, all three (assuming Beatrice helped out while Wirt was forced to help) looked around for any of Beatrice's belongings. Every time they were looking around in the room, Beatrice would start reminiscing on a memory that she had in that room — sometimes about memories totally unrelated to the room, but something that had popped up in the mind. Greg would always ask Beatrice about the stories she told, and that let her keep talking more with her story.

As much as Wirt didn't really want to pay attention, he couldn't help but pick up the tones that Beatrice spoke in: it was that of joy — a nostalgic kind of joy. Every time Beatrice starts talking about her memories in the house, her tone would be a more gentle and happiness, and it made Wirt confused. Not so much confused, but more so interested. It was different from the Beatrice he got to know from the two days he was here.

They are in the final room of the house, finishing their final checks. As Wirt checks under the bed to find anything that might help Beatrice, Greg shouts.

"Ahah! I found something!" Greg turns away from the wardrobe he was searching in with a toy in his hand: a dusty steamboat, whose colors had faded or chipped off. The name of the boat was too smudged to read anymore.

Greg walks towards the vanity desk, where Beatrice was checking. Wirt sees that Beatrice has sat herself down with her back toward the mirror. Greg brings up the boat to her.

"Were you missing a toy boat?" Greg asks.

"Oh… no," Beatrice apologetically mutters. "But I do feel like I've seen it before."

"Aw, fiddlesticks," Greg snaps his fingers comically. "It's a pretty nice boat, though. Are you sure it's not yours?"

"I mean, it could be one of my brothers." Beatrice thinks.

"Well," Wirt reasons, "Seeing the darkened wood of the boat as well as the chips and paint, it could be really old, too."

"Yeah, I guess," Beatrice shrugs. "But I guess that's not it though."

"If it's your brother's don't you want to keep it then?" Greg asks.

"Nah, it's fine," Beatrice turns herself to face the mirror. Her brows were arched and her face was overall solemn. Her eyes lower, "My siblings already moved on, so I don't really need it."

"Oh, okay," Greg replies promptly. "Then can I have it?"

"Yeah, go for it," Beatrice says nonchalantly. "I think it'd have better use with you anyways."

"Cool! I will take good care of it, Lady Beatrice," Greg walks over and sits on the bed, continuing to fiddle around with it. Standing up from crouching, Wirt brushes his pants before sitting himself on the bed next to his brother. He looks at Greg toy around with it, as the younger boy was debating what would a good name be for the ship.

Then he turns to look at the mirror to see Beatrice, and he's taken aback. He wasn't exactly expecting an endearing gaze from soft blue eyes that rivaled the blue of her dress, nor did he anticipate seeing a small curl on the girl's thin lips that was barely noticeable. How her eyebrows narrowed and raised. A happy smile that also expressed sadness. All from her looking at Greg. A look that made Wirt curious because of how that look perfectly matched the way she had spoken about the past while they were searching the rooms.

"Beatrice?" Wirt calls out with hesitation.

"Yes?" Beatrice straightens her back and turns her head to Wirt.

"Are… you okay?" Wirt reluctantly asks.

"Oh, uh, yeah," Beatrice rubs her face a bit. "Well, it is getting pretty late, isn't it? Maybe you guys should get going!" She gets up and rushes away. Wirt feels the cold air pass him by and he signals to Greg that they should leave.

As they head downstairs, Beatrice asks, "Alright, so tomorrow again?"

"Yeah! And I'll bring my new boat," Greg waves the boat around again.

"Alright, how about you bring some ideas, too, okay?"

Greg nods and opens the door, walking outside to start going back. Wirt follows behind casually, but he stops right when he steps outside. He turns around and looks around at the empty space.

"Hey, Beatrice, are you sure you're okay?" Wirt asks.

"Oh, yeah…" Beatrice's voice triails off. "Well, good night, Wirt. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah…" Wirt lowers his head and turns away to leave for home. The quiet shut of the door and off he and Greg went back home.


	4. Day 3

From the moment he left Beatrice at the house, something seemed to bother Wirt. After coming home, all he could ever recall in his mind was the redhead leaning on her desk with eyes filled with endearment and a look of nostalgia or longing. It was something about how soft her glance seemed, as though she was falling into a sweet dream and just letting the dream whisk her away into unknown fantasies. The Beatrice that Wirt knew didn't seem like she would have that side to her, especially to a kid, but she had that look and it practically startled Wirt by its appearance.

Perhaps, "startled" isn't the right word. "Baffled" would be more perfect. "Stunned" was a better word to describe the shock he felt from that day.

It hit Wirt that it's been a day since then. He's been in his mind wondering so much about what he saw in that mirror — whether or not it was real or if by chance, some magic spell was casted on the mirror.

He stops his wandering thoughts abruptly. "Magic spell." Surely, it could not have been a magic spell, right? THere was no way such a thing existed. It would be illogical to think so, ut then again, ghosts should not exist yet now he's entangled in a predicament with one.

All these thoughts… in the morning as he was zoning out while eating breakfast. The boy blinks and snaps back to reality: he's been holding a spoonful — or it used to be a spoonful of milk and cereal in front of him as though he were about to eat it but was paused before he could eat it. He couldn't focus; it could be of how curious he was of that image of Beatrice wrapped around his mind, or the fact that it's just the morning and he was groggily. Either way, he just wanted to ask BEatrice some questions.

As he continues with his breakfast, he hears a certain chipper voice coming down the stairs.

"And she gave me this boat, see? I'm going to call it S.S. Skipper."

"That's really nice of her to give that to you," Another voice replies, one lower and more mature.

Wirt looks up to see his stepbrother and stepfather joining him at the breakfast table. The two greet him and Wirt shortly greets back before silently continuing with his cereal.

He looks toward Greg, who was toying with his "new" boat happily. Suddenly, the image of Beatrice came back to the forefront of mind; the soft lopsided smile of her pink lips while her eyes conveyed opposing feelings.

"Hey Greg?" Wirt lowers his spoon. "You like ghosts...right?"

"Yeah! Is this about Beatrice? She's an awesome ghost—"

"Yeah, okay. I was just wondering: is it possible that perhaps ghosts can be held back because of how they're feeling?"

"Hmmm…" Greg pauses, "Yeah, I read something like that."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah! Sometimes, the ghost gets too sad about something they did, and then they stay here because they are sad." Greg thinks. "Is Beatrice sad about something? I can give her ice cream to make her feel better!"  
"Greg, you have a field trip today." Their step-dad steps in.

"Oh nuts…" Greg snaps his fingers, "Can you give her ice cream for me, Wirt?"

"Sure, but I just have one more question —"

"Hold on there," Their stepfather places his hand on Greg's shoulder, stopping Wirt in the middle of his question. "Is this true about the ghost?"

Wirt freezes immediately. Stammering, he blurts, "Ah, what? O-Oh, psh, no! We were just playing around with a… friend. She was playing as a ghost, and Greg just is playing along. Game's over, Greg!" The teen laughs weakly.

"Really —"

Wirt quickly gobbles the last bits of his food and gets up from his seat before his stepfather can continue. He takes his bag and swings it around to wear it on his back.

"Well, it was a nice breakfast! Have to go a school day! I-I mean, I have a good day!" Wirt panics more, pausing to take a deep breath before structuring his sentence, his hand already on the knob of the entrance door and already standing outside. "Have a good day!"

"Alright, take care, Wirt —"

Wirt closes the door quickly and stomps down the sidewalk to get to the bus stop quickly. His shoulders droop at the painstaking event that just occurred.

Well, it certainly was a weird breakfast, but now he's got some answers, though he wished he was able to ask the "magic" question. He'll just have to ask Beatrice for more answers.

But that has to wait until the end of the school day.

Once class was out, he scrambles to get out hastily, passing by friends that would try to stop him, but they could not keep him from leaving in such a rush.

Soon enough, Wirt finds himself before the familiar door of the house again. He huffs, rubbing the back of his neck, worried that these questions he has on his mind will bother the ghost, like a parasite eating away at her. Second thoughts start to rise in his mind, shrouding his confidence and beckoning him to forget it all.

He checks his watch to see the time. Early. Perhaps he should come back another time.

Wirt turns around, ready to head back home, but the door creaks open. Turning back, he stares blankly into the house, eyes searching for, of course, —

"You're early," Beatrice says.

"Yeah."

"You're never early."

"Yeah, well," Wirt walks himself into the house, "I didn't realize class ended early today."

"Oh yeah?" Beatrice closes the door, "So how was that?"

Wirt pauses, trying to recall his class, but he couldn't. In fact, the most he can remember are his thoughts in class, especially in his history class, where the teacher quickly reviewed over the Salem Witch Trials in Massachusetts. His teacher was bickering about whether or not black magic truly existed in that time, and that lesson led his thoughts back to the mirror — an ethereal scene beyond a distorted vision.

The ghost girl clears her throat, making Wirt come back to reality. He blinks and looks towards the source of the sound, looking back at the door.

"You didn't answer my question," She responds.

"Oh, sorry," Wirt shakes his head, "It was okay, I guess. Nothing particular happened."

"Oh wait, what happened to Greg?" Beatrice asks. "Thought you said you didn't want to help anymore."

"W-Well, I _could_ just leave," Wirt shrugs. "No harm with that."

Before Wirt can make a move, Beatrice stops him, "Okay, don't go but why didn't Greg come along?"

"He had a field trip, so he wasn't able to tag along."

"Oh, alright." The girl huffs, "So, do _you_ have an idea?"

"Actually, yes, I do," Wirt proudly claims. "Er… well…"

"So, you _don't_ have ideas?"

"I do!" He scrunches his nose, "But it's more like a bunch of questions.

"Really?" Beatrice continues with her annoyed tone. She sighs, "Well, if it's a way to help, then I guess, nothing to lose."

"Just trust me. I feel like this might be some help… maybe." Wirt rubs his arm.

"Alright, I'll trust you on that. Just back to our original promise, I suppose." She pauses. "Hey, you mind if we just walk around the house while you're asking the questions?"

"Oh, uh, sure?" Wirt shrugs. "You just… have to tell me where to go."

"Sure thing." Beatrice agrees, "Then, let's go… to the study."

Wirt walks himself past the living room into the study. He couldn't recall if he's actually _been_ in the study. All the times he has been here, he could only recall going to the kitchen, the living room, and the bedrooms. Perhaps he went when he came the first time, which seemed like a long time ago. Regardless, he did not recall the mahogany book shelves with glass doors lined against the walls, nor the shiny wooden table that sat in the center of the room, nor the matching shiny wooden chair. The scene seemed rather odd to him.

As he walks toward the table, from the corner of his eye, Wirt sees a faded reflection of himself. In front of his own reflection stands Beatrice. She turns around putting her hands on her hips.

"Alright, so?" Beatrice huffs. "What are you questions?"

"Right," Wirt rubs the back of his neck, unsure of how to bring the topic up more smoothly. "Um… do you have siblings?"

No response at first, then —

"A-Are you serious?" Beatrice monotones, dropping her arms. "Are you asking… if I had siblings?"

"...Oh," Wirt realizes the fault in his question, tensing up. "Shoot, sorry. It's kind of related to that question, uh…"

Beatrice lets her head hang low, "It's not going to be a dumb question again, is it?"

"Oh, no! It's not…" Wirt mutters. "You know, yesterday? When.. Greg came along?"

Beatrice's reflection switches off on one glass to the next as she walks, tracing her hand against the door, "Uh-huh." Wirt could tell that he was already losing her interest.

"Well, when we were all just hanging around in your room… I couldn't help but wonder."

Beatrice stops in her place at the shelf right behind the chair. Her ginger head turns to look at Wirt, "Wonder about what?"

"Just the way you were looking at Greg…" Wirt's words trail off, embarrassed of recalling such a memory.

"The way I looked?"

"Y-Yeah," Wirt stutters, "When I saw you in the mirror, you looked at Greg with a look as though he reminded you of something."

"Oh," Beatrice laughs lightly. "He just reminded me of my siblings. That's all."

"Yeah, but," Wirt traces his finger across the lines of the table, "The look you had was...sad. I mean, you were smiling, but it was like you were trying not to be sad because of a fond memory."

The ghost doesn't respond to Wirt's observation. Peering into the glass reflection, he sees Beatrice's figure freeze, face looking into the glass. Her head turns quickly to look at Wirt, without a single word. After a few seconds, he sees the figure move away from the shelves and toward the room. Her blurry figure sits itself in the wooden chair, leaning against the table's surface.

"You're surprisingly sharp," Beatrice chuckles. Wirt wanted to retort, but he kept his silence to listen to the other.

After letting out a huff, her voice peeps out in a low, hollow tone.

"When I saw your brother, it was like I said: he reminded me of my brothers and sisters. It's been so long since I've actually seen them, so I guess that was just me missing them."

" _How_ long has it been, again?" Wirt asks.

Beatrice pauses in thought, "Around 200 years? I've sort of lost count at this point. But… I wonder if they're all doing alright now. Wherever they are."

From a sharp obnoxious tone to one of thoughtfulness and melancholy, Beatrice's whole mood changed. Wirt looks into the one of the glass door's reflection, recognizing a familiar stature: Beatrice slouching in her chair, with one arm propped up to support her head while the other was lazily strewn across the desk. Though he could not tell the expression on Beatrice's face, he can guess that she held the same expression as the day before — perhaps the difference being that with such a hollow, yet heavy voice, she wasn't smiling this time.

"There must be something more than that…" Wirt mumbles, looking down and bringing his hand up to his chin.

"Sorry?"

"Oh, uh," Wirt looks up again at the distant image of Beatrice looking at him. "I just think there has to be something more than that. A-At least, that's how I feel about what you said."

Beatrice turns away, now letting both of her arms rest on the table. She stares down toward her arms. She shakes her head slightly.

"No, that's about it."

It was something about that tone that made Wirt skeptical — made him doubt Beatrice's words.

He parts his lips, ready to inquire more, but he is quick to close his mouth, weary that if he asked more on it then Beatrice would shoo him away for the rest of the day. Bad choice if he wanted to make progress on this. Still, he gave himself credit for asking the question.

"Hey Wirt?" Beatrice speaks up.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any other questions?" Her tone lightens — more airy while her words were elongated.

"Well, just one, but it's really dumb."

"And you're sure it'll help me?"

"I'm sure it will. I'm just… not entirely sure how."

Beatrice sighs, "Well, if it's a way to move on, then sure. But do you mind if we go up to the master bedroom? I think I want to sleep after I answer your question."

"Sure."

Then, the two left the study and walked up the stairs to head into the same bedroom as yesterday.

After walking up the stairs and entering the master bedroom, which looked untouched from yesterday, Wirt keeps his eye on the mirror waiting for Beatrice to appear. After several seconds later, she doesn't appear.

"Beatrice?" He calls.

"I'm here. Just laying on the bed." She replies.

"Oh. Alright." Wirt walks further into the room, deciding to take a seat by the vanity mirror.

Once he sits down on the tiny stool, he looks into the mirror, hand touching the mirror. There was nothing odd about the mirror — it wasn't distorted like he originally thought. He should have figured when Beatrice confirmed about his observations yesterday, as well as when he saw her reflection in the study.

"Hey Beatrice?" Wirt continues to trace his fingers around the mirror's edge. "This is going to sound really stupid, but when I saw you through the mirror, I thought it was some weird window into an alternate universe."

"What?" Beatrice snorts.

"H-Hey, just listen!" Wirt stammers. He clears his throat before proceeding, "So I thought that the mirror was distorted and all, and I kind of thought, 'Well, what if the mirror was enchanted?' And then I thought, 'Oh, what if magic exists?' It wouldn't be weird right? Since ghosts exist, and they shouldn't, magic could _maybe_ exist, too, right?"

It took a while before Beatrice manages to answer, "Right again."

"So, magic _does_ exist?"

Again, an elongated pause after the question. In a more irritated voice, Beatrice bitterly replies with a yes. Wirt feels reluctant to the change of tones. Should he stop asking her questions, or should he just keep questioning?

There was a long silence that bickered Wirt to speak up, but every bit of him refused. He didn't want to step any boundaries, but he knew he needed to possibly do so, if he wanted to help Beatrice.

But he wasn't the first to break the silence.

"There… was a witch." Beatrice huffs. Her voice certainly heavy with each word she slowly spoke.

"A witch?" Wirt probes.

"Adelaide of the forest. At least, that's how she introduced herself." The ghost replies. "She..." Her voice comes to a sudden halt, as though the girl had something catch her off-guard.

"Beatrice?" Wirt worries.

"It's…" Her voice quiets down, pauses, before picking up a lighter tone. "She just cursed me, that's all. Old hag's just got some bone to pick with me is all."

"And that's all?"

"Yeah, are we done here?" Wirt notices Beatrice's slightly quickened tone — impatient. "I'm getting a _little_ exhausted with all the questioning. It's like everytime we talk it's always question after question. No real action."  
"Like I said," Wirt stands up from the stool, "I think I'm getting somewhere. I just need some footing."

"If you say so," Beatrice sighs, "It's getting late. You should get going."

"Sure thing. I'll see you tomorrow, Beatrice." Wirt walks out the bedroom door.

"Yeah… see ya."

And just like that, Wirt left the ghost to her empty house. As he walked down the streets back home, he recalled all the new information he got from today: Beatrice missing her siblings and the witch. However, there definitely was something — a hunch — that put Wirt off about Beatrice today. She was hiding something, possibly about the witch. He reasoned that perhaps the witch could be the cause of why Beatrice cannot move on, but Beatrice's reluctance to answer may be straying him away from the truth. He has to know more before trying to solve this problem. However, he couldn't help but believe the witch really _is_ the reason behind Beatrice's fixed state. So, once he learns more about the witch and fixes the problem, Beatrice's problem will be solved, and Wirt will be free. But, is this really the path to a solution?


	5. Day 4

It was quite a long night for Wirt. He tried his best, laying in bed and thinking of nothing, to rest with ease, but even in the midst of his "non-existing" thoughts, his mind winds up back to the witch. Beatrice's annoyance seemed to come from her hesitation to bother with the topic, but Wirt, despite knowing he should back off from the topic, wanted to keep at it. Though he was unsure if the witch may be the cause, Wirt felt like maybe it is something to look into. At least _some_ sort of solution should work. After all, he is already halfway through his time with Beatrice — about three more days before his visits to the ghost's home will cease. He felt a sense of relief thinking about the end, but it did not feel as exuberant as it used to be.

His restless mind kept him up during the night, and he spent the night wandering around the bookshelves to find any sort of information. He debated, at first, whether he should use his computer to find information, but Wirt felt too lazy to have his eyes be burned out by the bright screen of the computer in contrast to his dimly lit room. So, he took to finding books around the house.

It was hard at first to get around the house when everyone was asleep. While he snuck around, he could have sworn he heard a sound of someone coming down the stairs, and Wirt did _not_ want to have to explain himself as to why he's up at two in the morning. It could be just weird nighttime sense heightening because of paranoia. He knows that there _shouldn't_ be a ghost in his house, but he wouldn't know; the loud thud on the ceiling when he was grabbing books made him start thinking otherwise (the truth is that Greg was tossing in his bed and unfortunately fell on the floor). It was after that loud thud that Wirt quickly scrambled to get the books that seemed even remotely related to witches and rushed back up the stairs to retreat to his room.

After many minutes spent flipping through pages of various books, Wirt was practically letting out grumbles and sighs every other minute, frustrated that he couldn't find anything about the witch Adelaide. Most of what he has seen were about general facts about witches — about witchcraft, the types of familiars a witch would have, and the history about witches. The history about witches was relatively interesting to him, noting down how witches were being hunted down for using their abilities for evil against society. That was something Wirt understood to some extent; he isn't even sure if his understanding of what he read is correct or not, but it was definitely something he was somewhat familiar with, considering what he's learned about in history class.

Minutes turned into a couple of hours until Wirt finally managed to find a book about different witch legends. The book had a bookmark left in it — one that was handmade, some glitter and some construction paper that was messily glued together. The teen could only imagine that it was his brother's, who was (he assumed) in the middle of reading before being too lazy to continue reading. After all, the book was rather thick and the bookmark was only placed on the fifth page. Wirt figured as much.

He flipped past the first few pages that was focused on introducing the material before landing on the descriptions for each of the witches. He fumbled through the A section and finally found Adelaide. Glossing his fingers over the little facts about the witch, he found out about how the witch had lived in the area that he lives now, in a forest nearby. As he continued down the page, his eyes widened; at the bottom of the page is a short summary of her death: burned at the stake. Shortly afterwards, Wirt closed the book and decided he should probably sleep after reading that.

Of course, his mind wondered about what he read; he wondered what he could do with the information he read. For the next day, Wirt thought perhaps he can try to look for the possible place that the witch had stayed in the forest. After all, there was a forest nearby his home that was adjacent to the park. It's a high chance that it might still be there, but then again, it's been so long — there's a high chance that the part of the forest that Adelaide's house was in has been taken down. He decided to sleep on that decision instead.

And that's how he winded up here: in the middle of the woods, on the weekend, with a poor excuse from his mother to let him go out to the "park." He wasn't lying when he said he was going to the park, but his mother probably would have prefered if he was staying in the more friendly-part of the park — not the creepy part, where the trees are dark and gloomy looking without their leaves and looming over you. He was a _little_ (insanely) unnerved about walking into the woods, but the comfort of the sunlight was enough to make him go through with the plan.

He is surprised about how large the woods are. If it isn't for the trails they have put in the woods, Wirt would have been worried about trying to find his way back out. In any case, he walks on into the woods.

When he came to the end of the trail he was on, Wirt finds himself at a big, open area covered in the fallen leaves of the dying trees. In the midst of that opening in the woods, he sees it — a mucky, old house. The wood that made up the walls of the house seemed sloppily stacked on top of one another, barely supporting the house's structure under the poorly shaped roof. The glass of the windows were all dusty or broken, most likely due to other kids who came across the house. The image of the house was the epitome of historical relic to Wirt's eyes. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt chills go down his spine. If he weren't handling a ghost everyday, Wirt probably would have turned and ran the other way, but circumstances made it so he's grown almost _used_ to the chills. He decided to go into the house.

Compared to Beatrice's house, it seemed like the house truly was abandoned — if the crumbling exterior did not give it away. There was a wooden table and matching chair in the middle of the room, both covered in dust that collected over the years. On the floor was even more dust and some shattered glass of the windows (and of course, there were droppings left by animals that came by, but Wirt would rather ignore those). Beneath the windows were some low shelves with what seems to be a book stand made of thin, golden metal — at least it seemed to be golden before. The color has chipped away at different parts of it. It also seems like some scavengers were interested in the books that the previous owner had before, leaving the shelves nearly empty.

That's where Wirt decided to check first. Since there were barely any books, he decided to just check them all. The first book he opened had a dark maroon cover and the spine of the book seemed to be nearly giving out, torn yellow pages breaking away from the base. Even when he opened it, some pages started to slip out. He crouched to pick them up and check them, only to find out that they were some spells or charms scribbled onto each page: a good luck charm, protection spell, etc. When he turned to the end of the book, he was surprised to see many empty pages. He tried to find the most recent page with writing on it, and it seemed that it was incomplete, as though its previous owner was interrupted before she finished writing it. He even noticed that the ink of the last word dripped and dragged down the page, but nothing beyond that was interesting to him about the page. Then he looked into a black covered book, but that was also a book of spells and charms — one that was completed.

It was then that he checked another book — one that was rather large, had a gray cover, and seemed completely intact, regardless of the yellowing pages within. When he opened it, he was surprised to find the start of many diary entries. He was hesitant to go on further, but he knew that this could possibly help. Reluctantly, he jumped around, skipping pages here and there, reading bits as he went. Quickly, he was starting to get bored from flipping the pages.

Then he kept seeing the word "escape" being written in the journal entries, which made him slow down in turning the pages. Why escape? What was it that Adelaide wanted to escape from? He decides to stop on the page that he was on to try and read more about it:

6-30-18XX

I finally made it far away from my city. It took a while, and it was frightening when it seemed like someone had noticed me while I was passing on by — in many different towns, big and small alike. I was simply glad that I had come this far in my escape. Now, it is just matters of making sure this life-risking escape is not all for naught.

I had settled in the woods again. Unfortunately, I could not find any better place to stay. I believe it is far enough for people to not come this way, but perhaps I am simply tired from my travels that my location seems far to me, for now. I will be sure to check my surroundings again after I rest for the night. If it seems far away, then I will be sure to create my house here.

I have grown so tired of running away from this condemnation. I know it has been quite a while since those many deaths — so long that one would think that people would forget, but not I. I am terribly afraid it would happen again — starting with me. I ought to just keep hiding away, but my feet are weary and my old legs are giving out on me.

Wirt couldn't help but be interested. The ending words gave Wirt chills, wondering what could have happened. He thought back about what Adelaide may be referring to when she talked about condemnation and many deaths. What would a witch be afraid of during that time?

He checked the date, and he remembered: the Salem Witch Trials. The scare of witches in the area. Wirt's brows arch, trying to recall when those witch trials were, but he failed to remember. In any case, he could easily just check later in the night.

Immediately, he carried on with the journal, wanting to know more about interactions with Beatrice and Adelaide — or if Adelaide bothered to write about Beatrice. Wirt flipped through a couple of journal entries, finding out that Adelaide had, in fact, stayed in the place she was in the entry he read. It took several pages, but he saw the words "girl" pop up several times, which made him turn back to when it started to appear:

10-01-18XX

A curious girl came through my house today. I was coming back from trying to find some food, finding my door wide open. I took caution as I slowly entered my home, finding the girl looking around my home.

She must have been in her adolescent years, and she was quite terrified when she saw me. I had to silence her; I did not want some child to be the cause of my end. So, I did something that would please her: I gave her something to keep her mouth shut.

It worked perfectly.

Wirt couldn't help but wonder what it was. What was it that Adelaide was giving the girl that he assumes to be Beatrice? Of course, it has to be because of whatever Adelaide was trying to run away from… right? Is he wrong to assume so?

Closing the book, he let his thumb brush its cover, wondering what more will the journal reveal about the circumstances. Wirt looks over the different books he went over, gathering the journal and some of the magic spell book, hoping that they might help get rid of the curse. Whatever it is.

With that, Wirt stands up, turns towards the door, and leaves the raggedy house to its continuing decay.

"You went where?" Beatrice asks. Wirt could see the girl squinting her eyes and wrinkling her nose through the vanity mirror.

Wirt places the journal on the desk, "I'm pretty sure it was the witch Adelaide's house. There were all these spellbooks, and then I found this journal."

Beatrice turns towards the mirror, staring down at the journal. Her lips purse and slant.

"I read some of the entries already, and there was a part in her journal where she was talking about a girl," The boy continues. He leans down and flips the book open, turning pages over to search for the entry. When he finds it, Wirt points to an instance where Adelaide wrote 'girl.' "See?"

Beatrice arches her back and lowers her head toward the journal, as though she couldn't get a better look. Her eyes move back and forth as she reads the journal entry. Once she finishes, Beatrice turns her head towards Wirt.

"So you think this girl is me, right?"

"W-Well, I think it's fair to guess, right?" Wirt hesitates.

"You're right though," Beatrice turns back to look at the book, "But what of it? You already know that I met her."

"Adelaide wrote about giving you something. I was wondering if you remember what it was… and maybe why?"

A hesitation from Beatrice's side. Wirt couldn't recall how hesitant Beatrice has been lately. Perhaps it started yesterday, but now it seems moreso. He also believes it might just be his perception, but nonetheless, he was growing a little worried.

Beatrice bites the inside of her mouth before replying, "There… was actually a lot of times. I actually can't remember how the first meeting went. It just seems like it blurs with all the other meetings."

Wirt shakes his head, "Wait, what do you mean other meetings? Why did you meet more than once?"

Beatrice's eyes look away from Wirt, toward the window panes of the room. "I don't know. I just keep stumbling on the house by accident, and the witch was really certain about keeping my mouth shut about whatever."

Wirt stares quietly at Beatrice, while Beatrice looked away. He knows that this was just another hesitation on Beatrice's part: a lie. At least, his gut is telling him that was the case, and Wirt wants to believe that, considering the way Beatrice was only talking briefly over the topic and there was definitely no way she would keep finding the house "by accident" unless her sense of direction was just that bad.

He lowers his eyes toward the journal. Sliding it closer to him, he takes the book into his hands, "And you're sure you don't know what that 'whatever' is?"

Beatrice shrugs, crossing her arms and refraining from looking back at Wirt, "Not a clue."

Wirt pouts but nods, "Okay, that's fine. Then I'm just gonna," He shifts himself toward the door, "Get going then. Sorry."

"Wait, Wirt?" Beatrice raises her head.

"Yeah?" Wirt looks back at the vanity mirror, taking a step back into the room.

Again, Beatrice lowers her head, eyes averting Wirt's gaze through the mirror. "Do you really think what you're doing is going to help?"

"I think so. I-I don't know, Beatrice." Wirt sighs, running his hand through his hair, "I think I'm getting closer to figuring it out. And you said we gotta try anything, right?"

"Yeah," Beatrice briefly replies.

"It'll be fine. And hopefully, this might give us some answer. If not then… at least we tried," Wirt shrugs.

"Right," Beatrice slightly nods, repeating, "We tried."

"And it won't hurt because then we could always try a different solution, too." Wirt suggests.

"Wirt?"

"Yeah?"

"The deal was only till three days from now."

"Oh," Wirt lowers his head, "Right."

A time of silence falls over the two. Without anything left to say, Wirt excuses himself, "I'll get going then. I'll try to find something tonight."

"Sure. See you then." Beatrice spoke lowly, dismissing the boy.

Wirt exits, feeling uncomfortably awkward about how the end of the day went, but he really couldn't think of anything else to ask. He didn't want to intrude on things that Beatrice would rather not discuss. He can only hope that the journal in his hands will provide the answers that Beatrice refuses to speak about.

It seems that it might wind up being another long night for Wirt.

He would have said he was correct in assuming so, but Wirt decided by the time night came around, he was going to spend the night reading more of Adelaide's journal. He was pretty sure that reading some of the entries would not take him too long. He waited for the time when the house had fallen silent as his folks went to bed. It was perfect for him to read alone and focus on the journal.

The boy sits himself on his bed comfortably, after getting dressed for bed. He gets under the covers and rests his head on the pillow. From his nightstand, Wirt grabs the journal and flips it open to read. He has already read a couple of the entries before, but he ought to check more.

He continues from where he left off at, October 1st. When he turns the next few pages he found that some of the entries would skip a couple of days, and each of those entries would talk about meeting the "girl" again. Some of the entries he finds would complain about Beatrice coming by, and other entries would just quickly summarize events that happen with Beatrice.

He is quick to skim pass those pages though. He didn't see any purpose of constantly reading about Beatrice and Adelaide meeting, unless something different popped up. He did, however, note that they did meet a lot. However, he soon realized that he was skipping many different pages, and ultimately, he winded up at the last entry — the one with the ominous trail of ink leading and dripping down the edges of the page. The marks seem to skid as though the pen was dragged down brashly.

The entry is written as such:

10-31-18XX

Almost 5 months since I have stopped moving away. I have grown used to living in this place, with the only person to have found me was that girl. Ever since the start of this month, that girl has been coming either everyday or every other day — it is hard to tell anymore when the days seem to blend with one another.

Nonetheless, she hasn't caused me any trouble yet, and I am hoping it stays that way. I almost like living in this small house in the woods, at peace with myself. No longer do I feel the fear that I had lived with for so long. The fear that my family had faced for so long since those dark days, but I dare question myself in my judgment: is it foolish of me to believe that it is fine to simply stay put from now on? It is as though we have been taught that we must constantly live in fear of being found, so I too should uphold this belief.

Yet, I digress from such notion. Instead, I have made my grounds, almost perfectly hidden, with the exception of that girl knowing my location.

Night is coming about, and the girl has yet to visit me for the day. Perhaps she had already visited me yesterday; again, I fail to recall. I have to ask myself what should I be giving to her to fulfill her stinky greed. What is that she —

From the looks of it, the words after what he could read were smudged away after the fresh ink had touched the paper, making the words unreadable before the trail of ink had began. Something about that made Wirt feel uneasy. The way that the witch had started off about Beatrice in the entry — he didn't like whatsoever, but he felt that there has to be something about this supposed "greed" that Adelaide was talking about.

Whatever the case may be, he did feel like he was so close to the answer — to discovering the truth, and Wirt was prepared to finish this. To finally help Beatrice move on.


	6. Day 5

_A terrible night, as usual. She grumbled, kicking the door and leaving._

" _Beatrice, come back here this instant!"_

" _I don't care! Just leave me alone!" She shouted back at her parents._

 _Then it was into the night that she had walked alone, carrying on down a path she had longed recognized from the many times she had travelled it. A path she had gotten used to following after every single fight. What would she care? It was over another stupid thing that she was taking the blame for. It didn't matter at all._

 _She kicked the pebbles that strayed onto the path as she walked on. Slowly, the woods began to consume her entire environment, and soon, she had found herself lost, carried away by focusing on taking out her anger on some tiny rocks._

 _Soon, she came across a disgusting looking house — one that probably belonged to one of the kooks of her village. How she hadn't stumbled upon the house before, she had no clue, but that didn't stop her from trying to see what was in the house. She walked in and all she was greeted was a disgusting heavy smog of spices. She would wave her hand before her face to clear the air up, but that didn't save her nose from dying by the smell._

 _It was like she had walked into a magician shop: there was a large black pot at the center of the room, next to a table with a stand right on top for books of sorts. The smell had come from whatever the black pot was boiling. The house was dimly lit by various melting candles placed in corners of the room. Of course, then there must be someone in here, or maybe they stepped away for a bit._

 _Regardless, she decided to look around for a bit. It couldn't hurt to look around. She went by each of the shelves starting with the one closest to me, books covered every inch of it. There were letters she could not recognize at all, written on some of the books. Soon, she had gotten close to the bubbling cauldron. This definitely must be a house of a magician of sorts. Though, she would not have guessed they exist!_

 _When she took a whiff of the cauldron's liquid, the smell filled her lungs and made her cough and hack. She stepped away from it and bumped into something._

 _She froze in place, afraid of what was there. What can it possibly be? She couldn't have hit the bookshelf — the shelf was too far away from the cauldron._

" _You shouldn't be here." A groggy, low voice spoke behind her. The girl jumped and turned around. A woman. A rather old woman. Her eyes were red and below them, her skin was dark in contrast to the rest of her skin — a pale gray. Her hat was exactly like a witch's hat, but the brim of it seemed torn, much like the rest of her clothes, especially her dark red shawl. She seemed feeble — weak._

" _Are_ you _the owner of the house?" The girl asked._

" _What are you doing here, little girl?" She lowered her eyes at me._

" _You're a witch, aren't you?" The girl asked directly. She didn't respond with words — only with the way her eyes widened and how her brows arched._

 _She suddenly grabbed the girl's dress by the collar and pulled the girl closer to her brashly._

" _I ought to do away with you." The old woman's eyes bored into the girl's. A cold gaze that made me feel shivers as the girl stood._

" _No! Please!" The girl yelled. She tried to keep calm and continued, "Look! I'll — I'll do anything! Just don't kill me, lady."_

" _How can I trust the words of humans?! Especially one of a dumb girl like you!" The old woman yelled, gripping her dress more tightly._

" _Dumb girl?!" The girl yelled back. All these stupid adults just continuously ignore her words. The girl means what she says; why can't they get that? "You haven't the slightest clue who I am! I've had a rough night already, alright?! I've had enough of people not listening to me today! So listen to me: I_ will _do anything!"_

 _The old lady's surprisingly strong grip loosened a bit. Her eyes were still fixated on mine. Slowly, she began to nod and pull away from the girl._

" _Why, I am so sorry, child," She started, "Many years of hiding away from humans like yourself. It is hard to say or believe any." The old lady walked away from me and began to look around her house, searching for something._

" _Hiding away?" The girl inquired._

" _Yes, witches can't be seen by humans. They would die."_

" _I saw you. You didn't die," The girl rolled her eyes._

" _Don't be cheeky, girl," The witch turned her head sharply back at the girl. "Humans are afraid of witches. They do not understand us beings, so we must hide away from persecution."_

 _The witch returned back to her cauldron and began to mix the contents inside. The girl walked to stand by her, watching as the ominous solution swirled around._

" _Now then, I'll be giving you a gift, just to make sure you remain mum about her existence. Understand? Don't tell anyone about me, you hear?" The witch turned toward me._

" _Yes yes I got it," The girl nodded._

 _It was just then that the cauldron began to glow. An odd green like the dark tree's leaves outside. The witch stood back. The girl joined by her side. The witch took something out of her sleeves — a long stick of sorts before waving it around. When she waved it around, something began to rise from the cauldron. The dark green goo began to drip off the object, soon revealing an ornament. A small, metallic band of sorts. When the witch pulled back her wand, the object floated towards the girl._

" _Take this," The witch gestured. Quickly, the girl grabbed the band. A sort of wrist accessory. How shiny and absolutely pretty. her mouth was jarred, seeing this — even touching it. "Yours if you remain silent."_

 _As the girl was putting on the wristband, the girl smiled at the witch and nodded quickly. "I certainly will."_

" _Good. Now go back home, girl. It's far too late for someone like you to be wandering outside."_

" _I know. I'll get going then. And don't worry! I'll definitely remain quiet!" The girl assured, stumbling to make her way out of the house._

" _I assure you will," She said as the girl left._

That was the first time Beatrice had ever met the witch, and she couldn't help but feel regret from that day. The fated day that would cause her so much grief till now.

The questions that the boy had asked. They haunted her thoughts ever since he had left, and it was godawful. She just wanted to rest, but there was no way she could do that, either. Not that she can possibly rest; ghosts don't need it, anyways. But those questions that slipped through his mouth, she hated them. She hated that it pulled her back into the disastrous memories that she wanted to forget. If she could, she would want to erase her memories and forget them all. But the thought saddened her — made her realize the selfishness of her wishes.

She was the same as she was before. She hadn't learned. All she did was try to push the memories away and try to live in the boring present, where she was condemned to constantly live in this house. Confided in a space where the memories still linger. Every room held memories to her that she treasured yet wanted to throw out.

And the past seemed to haunt her the most today. Seeing something from her past made it seem far more vivid in her mind.

She couldn't help but just replay the events in her head. The day she met the witch and then the day that the witch had gone away. The wild large red that flickered in her sight, surrounding the area. The piercing screams in that night, cursing her to live a doomed eternal life. The days that came along after that fearful night. She wanted to forget that, but with a scenery like that how can she possibly forget? And to forget would also mean she is letting the memories of her family rot. After all, it _was_ her fault.

And all of this because she was greedy. She was blinded by the idea of infinite treasure because of the witch's magic. It was like she was under a spell that kept begging for more.

She just didn't want to handle that responsibility. Not in the slightest.

But there the memories were. So vivid and clear.

 _She had walked this path several times over, so it seemed more like routine than anything. And the skips in her step almost seem routine, too; the girl couldn't hide her excitement. Too excited that she didn't bother knocking on the door; she knew that the door was unlocked. She pushed the door inward and allowed herself to enter._

 _Immediately she saw the witch sitting by her desk, writing in a book. Probably just another spell or something. Whatever the case, she was excited for her next gift._

" _I'm here!" She announced herself. The witch turned in her chair, stared at her with old gray eyes, and smiled with her thin crusty lips._

" _So you are," The witch nods. Her hand was still grasping her quill and laying on the journal. "And what is that you wish to have today, Miss?"_

 _The girl chuckled, "Well, anything. Your magic can get anything for me, can't it? I could just keep wishing for anything in the whole world and you wouldn't mind getting it for me."_

" _Anything, so that you keep your promise to remain mum about her existence," The witch added._

" _Quite true. And I did keep her promise, thus far." Beatrice nodded._

" _Yes, and I do hope that you keep at it." The witch replied._

 _Beatrice wanted to think of something to ask for. Something that would make her eyes sparkle the same way any other gifts she had received had done. Something so unique._

 _But her thoughts came to a halt._

 _The door bursted open behind her. She stepped back and coughed from the dust that the sudden opening of the door had spewed. When she looked up at who was at the door, all she could see were flickering lights and scared and angry faces. Her village people. They found her._

 _Shocked, her eyes were wide open as she turned toward the witch. The witch's hand shook in fear against her book. Soon, the old lady's face changed. Instead of a face that teared up in fear and shock, there was only a face of anger._

" _You —" The witch started, her voice grumbling at the girl. "You lied. You dare you use me like that?!"_

" _N-No!" The girl stammered, "I swear, I didn't lead them here!" Hastily she turned to the mob that entered the house, watching as they rushed into the house, chanting loudly to burn the witch. She watched as they grabbed the old witch from her stool, watched as the ink from her quill dragged across the page, watched as the witch screamed, pleading to be released from those deathly grips._

 _As she watched the witch be forcibly taken out of her house, her eyes land on two individuals. Familiar individuals._

" _Mother? Father? What—"_

" _Now, it's alright, Beatrice. There's nothing to worry about anymore." Her father cooed._

 _Beatrice paused. "Did… Did you do this?"_

" _We wanted to do this to help you," Her mother answered, wrapping her arms around her daughter_

" _That witch… She had you under a spell, making you come here in the middle of the night to chant spells or what-have-yous." Her father said. "But it's alright now. We are going to get rid of her, and you will not be under the spell anymore." He, too, wrapped his arms around his daughter._

" _That-That's not true at all!" Beatrice yelled, pushing away from her parents. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm not under a spell at all!"_

" _Oh, dear," Her mother weeped, "It's going to be alright. You don't know what you're saying right now." Her mother's hand rubbed her face, thumb gliding over her cheeks. "Let's just go home now."_

" _No. I can't," The girl grumbled. She took a step back from her parents and ran out of the house, chasing the mob. Her parents yelled her name behind her, but she couldn't care. She knew what was about to happen, and she wanted to stop it. She had to._

 _She hurriedly rushed after the mob, passing the dark trees that loom over her trail. She watched as the lights of the mobs' torches were getting closer and closer the more she ran, making her force herself to quicken her pace. She tripped over and over again; dead branches of trees were scattered on her path._

 _Then, she made it. She forced her way through the mob, passing and pushing against the grubby bodies. She yelled loudly for this to all stop the further she was in the crowd. But she couldn't hear herself over the loud shouting._

" _Burn the witch! Kill her!"_

" _She plagues this town with her curse!"_

" _To save our town!"_

 _A sea of voices that overwhelmed the girl. An uneasiness set inside her chest that made her want to scream and run away, but she couldn't. She knew she had to keep pushing forward._

 _As she kept pushing onward and as she kept screaming, she heard a familiar voice. One that was crying for all this to end. For all this to stop._

 _She was right by the witch. She was right behind the folks that were carrying the witch away._

 _Immediately, she grabbed for the people's mucky clothing, "Please, you don't have to do this! She wasn't doing any harm."_

" _We must. Who knows what possible curse she may bestow upon our village?" The older man, the village leader, reasoned._

" _She really won't! She isn't doing any harm!" The girl pulled the leader back, trying to stop him in his tracks, but the mob kept going, even without their leader._

" _My apologies, Beatrice. But we can't take the risk when the entire village may in danger."_

 _The girl shook her head angrily, fists gripping tightly to the leader's clothes. She let go and violently grabbed his hands to tear it away from Adelaide, but it was no use. No matter how much she tried to rip his hands away, the girl could not._

 _Soon, the witch noticed the girl. The witch's gray eyes wavered under the wet dark bags, as it focused on the girl. The tearful expression soon morphed into one of spite, of detestation. Her thin eyebrows arched._

" _Y-You damned girl! This is all your fault! All your fault!" The witch screamed._

" _No-! Adelaide! It wasn't my fault! I swear!"_

" _Damn you! Damn you!" The witch repeated, as she tried to fight the grips that shackled her to her doom._

 _The girl kept pleading away, chasing after the witch and the mob until they reached a pedestal. She stood stiffly in her place, eyes wide in disbelief. The mob hauled the resisting witch across the wooden platform; the old lady's face being dragged across stage, skin breaking away as splinters of wood scraped her face. The girl could see the old lady gasping away, with every tug from the mob._

 _She yelled at herself to move, but she couldn't. Her body wouldn't stop shaking; there was nothing she could do. Her eyes began to tear up, as she wrapped her arms around her own body to stop its shaking. She wanted to look away desperately, but her gaze was fixated on watching as the witch was being strapped down to a wooden pole by ropes._

 _The chanting got louder and louder as the mob on the stage were leaving. People raising their torches up in the air at the rhythm of the chants. Then people began to step back, pushing the girl backwards._

 _That's when the fires began to fly. Soon, the flames rained down, lighting up the sky in a horrendous red. Screams reverberated into the night — screams of a burning pain that consumed the flesh. The girl wanted it to stop. She wanted to turn away but she couldn't help but watch as the scene before her ; the wooden pedestal, the wooden pole, and the bound witch were being scorched away._

 _Piercing gray eyes, maddened by hatred and anger from betrayal, stared down at the girl beyond the flickering of the flames. The gaze was so frightening that it struck the girl to her knees, quivering on the floor._

" _You damned girl! You stare upon the pain you have caused! Let this death haunt you for the rest of your pathetic life! Let my death be seared in your memories!" The witch roared at the girl. "And I shall curse you! You and your kin to live in the greatest tragedies — to suffer in the deepest pains and submerged in it! And I curse you especially; to live on with this regret! May you never rest in peace forevermore!"_

 _The curse turned into more screams._

 _Then, silence._

 _The deed was done._

 _People began to turn away. So casually, they left the scene. To go about their night like usual — to sleep with ease._

 _Not the girl though. No, she stayed in her place on the ground, staring at the burned scene in a frozen state. The words of the witch echo painfully in her mind so clearly; the ghost of the witch seemingly possessing all her thoughts. With every word repeated, more weight was placed upon her._

 _Her family had to take her away from that scene, easing her in her state of mind the further they got away from it._

But getting away from that was merely a temporary bliss. The days that followed after proved to be worse than that.

The seasons were shifting, on the verge of the cold winters. The harvest for the year was not good for the year, so there was a shortage in food. Along with the poor harvest, there came a shortage of medicine that the doctor was able to create for the village. With the change of weather, people grew sick and slowly began to die away.

And the worst of it all, for the girl, her family had become the victim of this epidemic the most. It was her youngest brother, who had contracted the sickness as soon as the temperatures began to rapidly drop. The boy's body was too young and too frail to handle the cold, and soon, he had been lost to the sickness.

The family wept greatly over their newest and now former member of their family. They wanted to bury him upon a hill by their own house, afraid to be further away from him than he already was. A hill where the kids would constantly play under the warm summer sun.

Soon, more of the family members had joined the youngling upon that hill. Tears and tired eyes had become a normal thing found upon the family's face. The days they had spent on that hill grew longer and longer as weeks went on.

And as time went on, the girl's grief grew, too. With every death, her mind would take her back — back to that wretched night of hellfire. She was reliving that single moment every time another family member was taken away from them. The words screamed aloud on that night impale her mind and her heart, breaking away her soul before it can regain its stance.

Eventually, she found herself standing upon a hill with numerable graves. All there was left of every single member were makeshift grave markings; the undertaker could not create the graves as quickly as he could. The shadows of the markings would dawn down to the girl, looming over her own shadow as she stared, broken in spirit.

"Why?" was a question that would constantly repeat in her head as she stared onward, but she knew the answer to her own question. She knew all along.

Her fault.

Just as the witch had said. It was all her fault. And she couldn't deny it. If it wasn't for her greedy being, perhaps those graves would be nonexistent now. But it was too late to fix the mistakes she made. Her mistake will forever loom over her, over her house, constantly staring down at her with eyes of shame.

And there they would remain for the rest of her days trapped in this house. Even after she had died long after her family had departed from her, she can still feel them, faces filled with disgust, yearning to abandon her.

She should have stayed away.


	7. Day 6

One day left until the deadline. He just realized now when he was getting his bag to leave home for the bus to school. And he hadn't made any real progress. At all, or at least to him, it seemed like no matter how hard he tried to pry for more information, he would barely get anything out of it. Yesterday's meet did not work out at all; he couldn't get _any_ information at all. A part of him begins to panic that he would not be able to help Beatrice move on, and she will be doomed to live in the house forever. The thought aches him.

He needed to get to it. He wanted to get to it. He could easily put it off for tomorrow, but even then, would that be enough? At least if he did it today and it didn't work, there would be tomorrow.

Then again, the question comes back to "how is he going to help?"

He's been thinking about it ever since Beatrice had asked him the other day and even more so when Beatrice was being reluctant yesterday. Are his efforts being put to use, or is it all for nothing?

Last night, he found one possible way to stop the curse. One he had picked out from the spell book. A spell that would dispel any curse on an individual. He felt it would be too obvious of a way out, but that was his gut feeling. It won't stop him from trying; after all, he had all this time —

Right.

One more day.

Suddenly, he found himself more awake than earlier. His mind was fixated on that time running out. Time that he could be using to help Beatrice. All of that. Soon to be gone.

He knew what he wanted to do, as much as he knew that doing it would be bad. The problem is his parents were going to be the ones that would bother him to the most about it.

He quickly scatters to the door, putting on his shoes before turning around, looking back at his parents, "I'll see you after school."

His parents stare at Wirt, making Wirt shake more in place. It wasn't as noticeable as Wirt had thought. His parents had let him go easily with a "Have a good day, sweetie!".

A breach to a new path has been created, and Wirt is going to take it as quickly as he can. He goes immediately to the destined place. There's a quick pace to his steps, speeding carelessly away down the streets. He sees his classmates pass him up to the bus stop, yet he doesn't stop to greet them. They stare at him as he carries on, hands gripping tightly to the straps of his bag. His short, quick steps transform into long strides, running quickly to his destination.

He finds himself on the porch of the olden house. The porch he's been very used to being on, waiting on. The door he waited in front of for the past six days before being let in by a ghost he's been with for those six days. It was that time again to help again.

He knocks lightly on the door, wishing to enter soon. However, his knocks push the door inward, slowly creaking open.

"Beatrice?" He calls out, but no response. "Beatrice, is that you?"

Nothing still. Beatrice wasn't there. She wasn't the one who opened the door. So, the door must have just been unlocked for him.

A little unnerved, Wirt takes a step inside and tries to call out for the ghost girl again, "Hey Beatrice! I kinda let myself inside. But I think I might have got it now!"

The ghost girl continues to give him no response. Immediately, his mind thought something had been wrong, tension beginning to overwhelm him. Shock setting in and freezing him in place.

Scream.

Shatter.

All from upstairs. Wirt stumbles back from the sound of the scream and the sound of something shattering makes him gasp.

"B-Beatrice?" He stammers. The shock refrains him from trying to run up the stairs. He was afraid of what he might stumble upon, thinking the worst of the worst. He thought maybe that's the sound of the ghost girl fleeing away finally. He thought perhaps he could run away from all of this. He bites his lips and shakes his head at such a selfish thought. He needed to help his friend.

Then, Wirt finally moves easily. A burst of speed takes him up the stairs, immediately to where Beatrice was. He stands before the door where the scream and the shattering were coming from. He wasn't sure — not till he began to hear whimpering, gasps for air between the sobs beyond the door to the main bedroom. He places his hand lightly on the door and listens carefully. Each sob and gasp makes Wirt bite down on his lip more as he draws out more breath.

"Beatrice?" Wirt's breath shakes as he tries to call out again. "Beatrice, I think I found the way to stop the curse."

"Leave." Her bitter voice grumbles through the door.

"What?"

"I said leave!" She roars. Wirt's hand shakes against the door but he takes a gulp and creaks open the door.

"It'll all be over, Beatrice. Just let me help you," Wirt drops immediately to his knees, scrambling to get the spell book out of his bag. The ghost continues to wail, blubbering herself. He flips the book open to where his bookmark was. As soon as he muttered the words once, Wirt opens the door wide and yells it aloud.

But the crying won't stop. Wirt looks up to the vanity mirror — broken. In those pieces left hanging on the frame Wirt sees Beatrice, laying on the floor, arms against the dark wooden floor and head on the ground. Her body shakes with every sniffle and sob she makes. Wirt couldn't see her face.

"Just get out of here, Wirt. You tried already. It's no point," Beatrice commands.

"We still got one more day —"

"There's no point!" She yells. Wirt steps back. He takes a step forward again, eyes focused on the mirror.

"No, I know we can do it. I want to think we can do it."

"I give up, Wirt. I don't want to try anymore, okay?" Beatrice mutters.

"But Beatrice —"

"Enough!" Beatrice screams, "I've had enough, Wirt! You don't have to do that anymore. Isn't that what you wanted? You can go back to living your dumb normal life before I ever came into it! Just go!"

The teen boy clenches his fist, trying to resist those bitter words. It's true; all week he had wanted to just go back home. When had things changed from there? When had he started forgetting about that selfish wish?

"That's not true! Well... not anymore. Beatrice, I can help you. I don't care anymore! This week can pass, and I'll still come back to help! I couldn't care how long it takes!"

"Just shut up already, Wirt! There's no point!" She repeatedly screams. "That's not going to change anything I did."

Anything she did? What did she do? He is missing so many important details that he couldn't comprehend. He wanted to, badly.

"What... did you do, Beatrice?" Wirt takes a step closer to Beatrice's sobbing figure.

"This entire time, I thought maybe I'll get better, pass on without all of this stupid past. I wanted to leave it behind. But god, I just... can't, no matter how much I try. If this is the witch's stupid curse, she wins. Maybe I'll just live forever in this pain."

Wirt takes another step closer, looking carefully at Beatrice. Beatrice's face lifts, her face bright red and tears streaming down her face.

"I did it. It's all my fault. My family, the witch...they're gone. And it's all my fault, Wirt." Beatrice sobs into her hands.

In silence, Beatrice sobs and Wirt stands behind Beatrice. The key to this mystery was found. With worrisome eyes, he looks toward Beatrice's mirror image. He couldn't make a response. He couldn't think of what to say.

"See? You get it now? I'm condemned to this life, Wirt. I broke the promise with the witch and she got killed because of me. My family had gotten cursed and died because of me." She lowers her head, face hidden away yet again.

Guilt. Shame. It was eating her up this entire time. But her regret, she repented for her sin, so why won't she move on?

" _Sometimes, the ghost gets too sad about something they did, and then they stay here because they are sad."_

Greg's words. Wirt recalls when he had asked about ghosts. He had forgotten all this time. When he had asked, he didn't care as much. But now... things made sense.

Beatrice was keeping _herself_ here. The spell hadn't worked because it's not the witch who enforced the curse; it was Beatrice who was inflicting the damage upon herself.

And he thinks he knows what to do. He can imagine from what he knows so far what happened.

Stepping to the side of Beatrice, he speaks in a quiet voice, "It's...not your fault, Beatrice."

"How?! How can you possibly know that, Wirt?!" She whips her neck around to stare at Wirt. Wirt tries to imagine the crying ghost in front of him, looking to her eyes as he lowered his body into a crouch.

"I know you," he nods. "You wouldn't do anything like that. Sure... you can be a bit annoying, but you wouldn't want to cause anyone harm."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I was some stupid, greedy prick who just thought about herself."

"But you feel regret. You wouldn't feel that if you did want that pain on them." Wirt objects. "It's not your fault at all, Beatrice. And your family and the witch would have understood if they had known."

"They wouldn't—"

"They would," Wirt continues, "And they'd forgive you. After all this time, I'm sure they would. Maybe you don't know it because of that harsh character you put up, but seeing you with Greg the other day... I felt like there's more. And... as much as I want to deny it, I thought you are really amazing that you'd still try before. And I think after all this time, you feel regret, so you've grown from that. You've learned. " He pauses. "So come on, Beatrice, I think... it's time you should forgive yourself."

Wirt reaches his hand out to the ghost, hoping for an answer, but silence protrudes the area. For the longest of time. He worries for the other's wellbeing. The sobbing had stopped. Had it stopped when he was talking? He wasn't sure, but he pleaded his words had helped Beatrice.

Suddenly, a small chuckle disrupts the silence. And then it turns into a small laugh.

But that wasn't what startled Wirt — what made him fall over.

No, it was the sudden blue that bloomed before him out of sheer nowhere. A figure that had turned out of nowhere. A face patterned with freckles upon a red skin. Eyes that were glowing a crystal blue from the tears she cried under her messy bright orange hair.

Beatrice, standing before Wirt. She was actually here. Wirt quickly stumbled to his feet to face Beatrice. She gives him a warm smile, "Y-You're really bad at this, huh Wirt?"

Her response. It made the teen boy give her a lopsided grin, "I try."

The ghost chuckles, "Not bad." She looks into Wirt's eyes, and both their eyes meet for once. "But wait, you..."

"I could see you," Wirt shrugs.

"But how?" Beatrice questions.

"I don't know," he shakes his head.

But that question's answer time ceases. Soon, Beatrice's figure begins to glow like sunlight. Her outlines fade into the sunlight. Wirt's eyes widen. Beatrice gives him a puzzled look before looking down at her hands, slowly disappearing.

"I guess this means this is it," Beatrice looks up from her hands to the teen boy. Wirt shakes his head, trying to understand but soon he realizes the truth.

"I'm glad then," Wirt nods toward Beatrice. "You can finally move on. Be with your family."

"And get off your back?"

"Yeah— Wait, no!"

Beatrice snorts, "I'm just joking." She sighs, "But really, thank you, Wirt. I'll never forget what you did for me."

Wirt shakes his head, "No, Beatrice, you helped yourself. I kind of just helped push you in the right direction is all. "

"But if it weren't for that push, I'd still be stuck here. So I won't forget." Beatrice smiles happily. Her body is slowly disappearing from legs up. All there was left was her bust. "Maybe we'll meet again."

"I'm looking forward to it. And Beatrice?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you." Words that left Wirt's lips shock Beatrice into tears. Beatrice's lips quiver, trying to hold the smile.

Suddenly, Wirt finds him in warm, disappearing arms. His shoulder was getting wet from those tears from the girl. He too feels tears start welling up in his eyes. He wraps his arms around the girl's disappearing body, trying to hold onto whatever was left of the girl.

"I'll... miss you, Wirt," Beatrice whispers.

"And I'll miss you, too, Beatrice." Wirt whispers back.

And just like that, Beatrice disappears from Wirt's grasp, away into the light. He stands there lost in the moment. The person he's come to know for a mere week — gone. He doesn't know how he should feel. It was like grieving for his dead friend, but also happily cheering them on.

"Goodbye, Beatrice," Wirt takes a step back, staring at the broken mirror that he once used to see his friend, before turning away and leaving the room, leaving the house behind.

As he stepped out, he stared up to the sky; the sun shining brightly down on him and the house. He never realized how brightly the sun shone. But as he stares into the sky, he gives a final smile and quietly wishes, "I hope you've gotten the happiness you deserve, Beatrice."

And he left for home in peace to be with his own family.


End file.
